by Radclyffe
It was just what photographers did, Farrah told herself. They all made their subjects feel beautiful and desirable. She’d done photo shoots before. She knew how the game worked. The trouble was she was going to be smashed up against a damnably sexy woman, a woman who made parts of her feel swollen and hot. And she was going to be watched by another damnably sexy woman the whole while. Racie Racine was an excellent photographer, and after all this time, Farrah didn’t want her secrets divined from a photograph that captured something real, deeper than the persona she’d nursed all these years.
“What will Barrett be wearing?”
“A black vintage gambler’s vest,” Barrett answered, “and tuxedo trousers.”
“The color of bow tie will depend on your dress,” Racie added.
“Well, I don’t have anything off-the-shoulder in scarlet.”
“This is Vegas.” Racie’s smile was conspiratorial. “I actually saw the perfect thing in the window at Yves St. Laurent.”
“I’ll think about it,” Farrah said. So she was going to be half-dressed while Barrett, lucky Barrett, got to be fully clothed. With one eyebrow lifted, she said, “Unless we want to play with gender roles. I wear the tux and she wears the dress.”
Barrett made a low sound of approval. “I’d probably pass out if you wore a tux.”
“She gets faint whenever she watches Victor/Victoria—Julie Andrews in a tux.” Racie chuckled. “But she hasn’t worn a dress since the fourth grade.”
“I suspected as much.” Farrah hoped her expression was archly flirtatious, something, anything that didn’t reveal that Barrett’s and Racie’s frank assessment of her body was causing a riot of pleasurable sensations between her legs. How long had it been since she’d had sex, anyway?
That you even have to ask, she told herself, meant it had been too long, and it had been a risky one-night stand, so hardly satisfying. Well, she wasn’t going to find sex in all the wrong places, and Barrett Lancey’s suite was at the top of that list. There was a meeting of escort workers in the hotel—she’d pay for it first.
“Well,” she assumed a bright tone, “I think I have some shopping to do. Are we still on for four p.m.?”
“Four it is,” Racie confirmed. She moved into the casual circle of Barrett’s arm, still giving Farrah that you-gorgeous-thing-you look at which photographers excelled.
Farrah made her way out of the meeting room, convinced she could feel the gazes of both women on her back. Her feet, of their own volition, turned toward the shopping concourse.
*
At four p.m., the door to Barrett and Racie’s suite stood open. A couple of groupies were just inside, sipping wine as they chatted.
“How wonderful to see you,” one said. The other, in the same uniform of jeans and a polo shirt, pointed toward the suite’s expansive main room. “They’re set up in the master bath.”
“The bathroom,” Farrah echoed. She resettled the dress bag over her arm and tried not to show her puzzlement. Since when were there fainting couches in bathrooms?
It was fortuitous that she saw Barrett before anyone else realized she had arrived. The black raw silk vintage gambler’s vest fit her like a glove, and tuxedo slacks were cut loosely over her slender hips.
Nobody had mentioned that Barrett wouldn’t be wearing a shirt.
For several seconds Farrah had a lightning fantasy of licking her way across Barrett’s hard-as-granite shoulders. She hoped the momentary weakness she felt didn’t show in her face because she realized that Barrett had seen her. There was no sign of Racie, thank goodness, because that tight silk vest didn’t hide the fact that Barrett’s nipples had hardened.
“I’m waiting to be coiffed and made up. What do you think so far?” She turned in a slow circle.
“Gorgeous,” Farrah said honestly. She was too breathless to say more.
“Do you need to get changed? How about the other bedroom?” Barrett led the way. “This suite is ridiculously large.”
Finding her voice, Farrah strove to match the bantering tone. “As are most things in Vegas. I feel like I should car pool just to get from one end of the hotel to the other. I feel lost in suites like these, so I usually opt for a small setup.”
Barrett turned from the door to the second bedroom. “Racie and I usually find a way to make use of the space.” Her gaze flicked to the centerpiece round sofa in the main room as she gestured an “after you” to Farrah.
It was almost impossible to shake the image of Barrett and Racie entwined in various positions on the furniture. She knew nothing about them, not really, but her imagination supplied accoutrements for Barrett and a leather bustier for Racie while her ears were filled with a full-scale orgy soundtrack.
“Do you have everything you need?” Barrett lounged in the doorway, the vest pulled tight across her chest.
“Yes, thank you,” Farrah said automatically. She clamped her mouth shut before she added, “But not everything I want.” Instead she made a show of shooing Barrett out of the doorway. “Away with you. I have to get ready.”
Barrett didn’t move. “Ready for what?” Her eyes were openly suggestive.
Farrah didn’t know where her answer came from. “Anything you’ve got.” She planted both hands on the rock hard shoulders and shoved.
Barrett faltered back a step and Farrah closed the door in her surprised face.
*
There was no point to false modesty. Farrah looked at herself in the mirror, assessing the fit and drape of the scarlet dress she’d bought to please Racie. The off-the-shoulder bodice swept forward to cup her breasts. A technological marvel of a bra lifted her bust to create cleavage where gravity had long since won. The bra had been so gorgeous she’d gotten the matching thong, not that she was going to let Racie photograph it. Tapering in at her waist, the heavy fabric flared at her hips and fell to the floor. Once she had on her shoes, it would just brush the ground. With every step, the twin slits would expose her bare legs from ankle to four or five inches above her knees.
It wasn’t her usual look, but Racie’s eye for style had been perfect. The dress was sizzling hot. She fought down a blush thinking of what it would do to Barrett’s composure. Surely Racie, of all people, would see the crackle of chemistry between them—all fine and good for the sake of the photo shoot, but when that was over Racie might have second thoughts.
She answered a knock at the door, but it was only the makeup artist. Within five minutes she even had powder on her cleavage. Her eyes went from a sweet honey brown to a smoky, sultry topaz. Twenty minutes with a hair sadist transformed her shoulder-length blond hair into a high class French knot. Alone again, Farrah looked at herself in the mirror as she clasped a strand of pearls with a deep blue pendant around her neck. Matching drop earrings completed the outfit. Well, she still had to put on the shoes. She wasn’t sure she could walk in them, so she’d wait.
The stilettos dangling from her fingertips, she took a deep breath and opened the door.
One of the groupies whistled.
Someone said, “Damn.” Then Farrah realized it was Barrett. A scarlet bow tie had been artfully tied around her bare neck, and all Farrah could think about for a moment was undoing that tie with her teeth.
“Will I do?” She tried for the happy, virginal smile that graced the back of every paperback romance she’d ever sold.
“You’ll do.” Barrett sounded hoarse. “Did you need help with those shoes?”
“No, I was waiting—it’s not—oh…” Before Farrah knew it, she was seated on the round sofa with Barrett kneeling at her feet.
The Ferragamo satin and patent stilettos were in Barrett’s hands. She slipped the left on first, one warm, strong hand cupped behind Farrah’s calf.
Her voice pitched low, she said, “You’re going to be taller than I am in these gorgeous shoes.”
“Would you rather I didn’t wear them?”
“Of course not.” She slipped the right shoe into place. “I want you to walk o
n me in them.”
Farrah batted her eyelashes. “I didn’t think you were into that.”
“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” Barrett looked up, the vest straining over her shoulders and against her taut breasts. She wasn’t smiling.
“You started without me!” Racie swept into the room, her camera already clicking. “Jesus, you two look incredibly hot. Keep talking.”
Farrah felt her cheeks stain with color. Barrett looked a little flushed too.
“Oh, you’ve both frozen up. Okay, everybody else out. There’s work to be done. You two stay put.” Racie shepherded everybody out of the suite, even the groupies who looked like they were going to faint. She flipped the safety latch on, then said, “Now it’s just us.”
Farrah wanted to ask Barrett what she’d meant, but it wasn’t appropriate. She shouldn’t be flirting. Barrett’s hand still cupped her calf and Farrah took a deep breath, wondering what Barrett would do if she shifted the toe of the pump just a little to the left.
Maybe her intention showed in her eyes, or maybe it was just the way she shifted her shoulders, but when Barrett’s jaw went slack, Farrah felt herself blush again. Femme fatales don’t blush, she told herself fiercely.
Racie was saying, “Just the three of us. Baby, lean a little closer, and Farrah, can you incline your shoulders toward her, but look over this direction? Get closer.”
“Someone said we were shooting in the bathroom.”
“That’s the cover shot,” Racie explained. Her camera clicked and whirred like a slot machine wheel. “If these turn out, they could go inside. Vanity Fair is going to love this look. Barrett, honey, put your tongue back in your mouth and smile a little.”
A nervous laugh escaped Farrah, and she couldn’t help but glance at Barrett.
Barrett muttered, “I’d rather put my tongue in your mouth.”
Farrah broke out in goose bumps. “Why do you think I’d let you?”
One expressive eyebrow lifted and a smile emerged at last. Still in that low, sexy voice, she answered, “Because I can smell you. You’re as turned on as I am.”
“Okay, let’s move to the bathroom where the light is set up.” Racie breezed away, scooping a second camera off a table as she went.
Barrett rose to her feet and extended a hand to Farrah. “My lady?”
Easily lifted to her feet, Farrah said, just as Barrett leaned toward her, “We can’t ruin the makeup.”
“Good thing you reminded me.” With a distinctly regretful look in her eyes, Barrett led Farrah through the master bedroom and into a palatial bathroom, gripping her arm tightly when Farrah stumbled a little in the unfamiliar shoes. She wouldn’t be able to walk twenty feet in them.
When she took in the layout for the photo shoot, Farrah laughed. The bathtub, easily capable of holding three people, was filled with white cushions.
“We’re taking a bath together, sort of?”
“That’s the idea.”
Racie posed them several ways over the next hour and took preliminary photographs. Farrah straddling Barrett, Barrett spooning Farrah from behind, Farrah looking as if she’d fallen across Barrett’s lap, and so forth. Each pose included careful arrangement of the folds of Farrah’s gown and the set of Barrett’s shoulders.
Racie paced and muttered, mostly to herself, then announced, “I’m liking this one so far. Let’s do a full set with it.”
Barrett was resting back in the tub, the heels of her men’s dress shoes up on the lip farthest from the camera, ankles crossed and looking very devil-may-care. Farrah was on her side, her head on Barrett’s shoulder and her dress was spread over the cushions, exposing her legs as the dress covered Barrett’s.
“A few little things,” Racie said. She tweaked the dress again, then leaned over the tub to lift Farrah’s pendant from where it had become trapped between her breasts. Racie’s fingertips brushed over Farrah’s chest as she set the pendant where it would be seen. Farrah couldn’t help but stare down Racie’s loose-fitting tank top. She wore no bra and the erect nipples of dusty rose made Farrah’s mouth water. “Now don’t move.”
The camera shutter clicked, batteries were swapped, the lights shifted. Racie had to dab their faces with more powder as the temperature kept going up. Farrah lost track of time. The lighting didn’t allow for any change in the sunlight, though it had to be early evening, and she was intensely aware of Barrett’s pounding heart and taut body.
The suite’s doorbell rang and Racie went to answer it, saying, “I bet that’s the room service you preordered, baby. You two relax. I think we’re just about done.”
“Thank God,” Farrah muttered.
“Could you get off my shoulder?”
“Sorry!” Farrah wiggled around, her legs feeling stiff.
“It’s not your fault. Racie can be a real…taskmaster.”
Farrah managed to get herself onto the side of the tub. “Do you really think we’re done?”
“I hope so, because I really want to kiss you.”
Having had the past hour to think about it, Farrah said, “Do you make all the girls feel this way at these conventions?”
“Do you think I have a woman in every port, or something?” Barrett looked offended.
“You’re a natural born flirt.”
“So what if I am? And exactly how am I making you feel?”
“I think you know.”
“I know what I want to be true.” She leaned close, her lips only an inch from Farrah’s. “I want you to be as wet and as aching as I am. I’ve been like this since San Antonio. Touching you was unforgettable.”
“Barrett, stop it.” Farrah glanced nervously in the direction of the door.
“Why?”
“Your girlfriend will be back any moment.”
Barrett’s eyes had no business crinkling with such charm. “I certainly hope so. We play as a couple.”
Farrah’s heart nearly stopped. Not just Barrett, with the hot, eager eyes, but sultry, sexy Racie too? They both…wanted her?
“Racie thinks you’re confused and just need a helping hand to show you what you really are.” Barrett brushed her lips against Farrah’s.
Say something, Farrah thought desperately. Nice girls do not have threesomes. Say no, that’s right, say no. Say it now.
“But I read between the lines in your love scenes, and I think you already know what you are. You’re just afraid to live it.”
Her voice taut with panic and excitement, Farrah asked, “Is that supposed to goad me into saying yes?”
“I don’t want you to say yes.” Barrett undid the first button on her vest with a dexterous flick. “I want you to scream it.”
Racie re-entered the room, licking her fingers. “I’m sorry, guys. If you eat something you’ll ruin the makeup and I realized there’s one more pose I want. The crab dip is delicious, and there are apricot crepes with burnt sugar.” She seemed oblivious to the telling angles of Farrah’s and Barrett’s bodies. “If you’ve eased those tired muscles, I want to use the sunset lighting in the hallway. We have to move fast.”
Farrah leaned on one shoulder against the nondescript wall where Racie pointed. After Racie finished fussing with her camera, she gave Farrah one of those oh-you’re-edible looks.
“Stand here,” she practically purred, placing Farrah’s feet a good twenty inches from the wall. “Now lean like this.” Her hands were warm and firm.
The position, with her shoulders flat against the cold wallpaper, was awkward, requiring her to bend backward at an extreme angle.
It got less awkward when Barrett’s thigh was pressed between her legs to hold her up. One arm supported her back, requiring Barrett to lean into her, their faces only inches apart.
“That’s fantastic.” Racie’s shoulders and neck were flushed by the time she had Barrett posed to her satisfaction. She snatched up her camera. “Your bodies are in the light, your faces in shadow—this will be a totally hot black and white shot. It’s just
like the covers of all our books, the big clinch.”
Farrah could feel Barrett’s heartbeat against her breasts. It was all she could do not to rub herself on the hard thigh. Aware that Racie might be able to hear her, she dropped her voice as low as possible. “You weren’t making it up, were you?”
“Making what up?”
“That you both…you know.”
“Play? No, it’s the truth.” If anything, Barrett leaned closer. “Racie is so turned on right now I’m surprised she can focus her camera. But she always manages. She’s all about the visual, and you are so wicked hot.”
“I don’t—why? Why me?” Farrah realized she was stammering like a teenager.
“Damn, woman. You’re intelligent, you’re funny, you’re incredibly sexy. Of all the characters you write, the ones who ring the truest are the good girls with a wildcat in their soul. Do you think all those hot-for-Farrah posts on the fan lists are just flattery? If I were a guy I’d have a hard-on the size of Montana around you.”
“Barrett.” Farrah breathed out the name, knowing she had wanted to say it for a long time.
“I’m not a guy, but right now my clit feels like the size of Montana.” With a little growl, she pushed her thigh more firmly between Farrah’s legs.
“Perfect,” Racie said. “Just like that.” She circled them slowly for several minutes, camera whirring.
Finally, Racie put the camera down, then approached them. Farrah expected more posing, though it seemed to her that the shadows were getting long and low for any more photos. Racie had gotten all the desert’s summer sunset could give.
Leaning in to look at Barrett, Racie said, “Now I think you should kiss her.”
Farrah gasped.
“God knows, I want to. But it’s up to Farrah.” In spite of her words, Barrett buried her lips into the hollow of Farrah’s throat.
Racie’s lips were at Farrah’s ear. “I know you want her. It’s okay. I love her, and I love watching her.”